


soft (silk, shorn)

by moth_writes



Series: scintillae [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Sparks (Simon Snow), First Kiss, Getting Together, Haircuts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29574321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth_writes/pseuds/moth_writes
Summary: Simon has to cut his hair before he leaves for the home. Baz finds him and helps.(Standalone-does not need to be read in order of the series.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: scintillae [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763179
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	soft (silk, shorn)

**Author's Note:**

> look. i don't know anything about cutting hair. the most experience i have with it is watching my mom shear my dad every few months and that one time when i was twelve and cut of like two feet of hair. (it was very long. it is long now. i don't get haircuts, to further prove this.) just pretend any inaccuracies don't exist because they're mages, magic made it that way/
> 
> This is for the Carry On Sparks prompt soft, and i have had the first few paragraphs sitting in my drafts since October. :)

SIMON

I have to go back tomorrow. 

Back to the homes for the last time. Next summer-I don’t know. I’ll be too old to go back to the home, if I even make it that long.

I’ll fight the Humdrum next year. If I make it through that-well. The Mage will probably let me do something for him, and Penny and I can get a flat in London.

I don’t like thinking about the future. I don’t want to disappoint myself.

And I don’t really expect to make it that far, anyway, so I really don’t have to worry about it.

I set those thoughts aside and focus on my reflection in the mirror. My hair grows fast, and I haven’t cut it since last summer, so the ends of it are long enough to brush my shoulders.

I flick on my electric razor. Sort of electric-Penny spelled it to run on magic, so I don’t have to plug it in or charge it or anything. (Thankfully. Outlets at Watford are far and few.)(I can’t count how many times I saw people running around in search of one, before electronics were banned.)

I meet my own eyes in the mirror, running my spare hand through my hair. It’s clean and just barely dry-I have a routine: shower, pack, hair-and my fingers slip through it.

I click the longest guard on the razor and shave a stripe. It’s messy, but it really doesn’t matter.

I don’t notice Baz is back until I’m lining up for another cut, and when he speaks I almost lose half an eyebrow.

  
  


BAZ  
  


When I get back to the room, Snow is standing in the bathroom with the door flung wide open.

Of course. He has no sense of privacy. (It’s cost me quite a few nights spent staring at the ceiling with my mind racing instead of sleeping. I hate it.)(I love it.)

“What are you doing now, Snow?” I say and his arm jerks where he’s still holding up the razor. He scowls.

“Christ, Baz, don’t startle me like that. I almost lost my eyebrow.”

I raise one of mine. “I doubt it would make much of a difference, Snow. You can only look so…”I trail off and let him fill in the blank. (Stupid. Idiotic. Foolish.)( _Gorgeous_.)

He scowls harder, growling delightfully. “Go away, Baz.”

“And miss the show?” I say, mock-offended. “Never.” 

He huffs and turns back to the mirror. I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he intends to ignore me. I don’t mind, much-it’s an opportunity to stare at him under the pretence of hostility. I have to stock up for summer.

Then he shaves another uneven stripe and it makes me wince. And then another, and I can’t stand here and watch this mutilation any more. 

I sigh and pull an elastic from my pocket, pulling my hair into a ponytail at the back of my neck. I had to clean out my football locker earlier, and I pocketed a few elastics then.

“Snow,” I say, and he looks at me. “Let me do it. Keep going as you are and you _will_ lose your eyebrows.”

“I’ve done this before,” he huffs.

“And has it turned out better?”

He’s silent. I smirk.

Snow turns suddenly, facing me. “If you’re so concerned,” he snaps, “you do it.”

This is what I was waiting for. I step forward and pluck the razor from his loose grip easily. 

“No,” he protests, grabbing at the razor. I hold it out of his reach, though I have to stand on my toes to do it. “Give it back, Baz!”

“No,” I tell him. “You said I could do it, and I’m going to. Turn around.”

He’s growling and huffing and working himself up wonderfully. I’m as stubborn as he is, though, and Ijust stand there holding the razor up.

I have vampire strength, as much as I hate it, and I’ll be damned if I don’t use it to get what I want right now.

I don’t know why I want to cut his hair so badly. I love his curls, thick and bronze and horribly dry.

I want to sink my fingers into his ruined hair and drag it away in handfuls.

I don’t.

Snow gives in, eventually, and turns back to the mirror. “Fine,” he sighs, almost worn out. “It’s just being shaved, so it’s not like you can make me look very fucked up like that.”

I gasp in mock horror. “I would never, Snow.”

The corners of his mouth quirk up the way they do when he’s trying not to find me amusing. I love it.

Snow sighs. “Just get on with it.”

I do, stepping close behind him. I run my fingers through his hair a few times in a pretence of neatening it, as many as I think I can get away with, before I take the razor to him.

I start at the back of his neck, shearing up.

It all feels too painfully delicate. Like everything has switched to high-definition, like I’ve been seeing through fog until now. The edge of his ear in the harsh bathroom light looks precariously attached, like I could rip it off. 

I don’t try. I finish shaving his head, and then I step back.

This feels different. There’s none of the half-playful, half-antagonistic air from earlier. When I speak, I want to whisper.

I don’t.

“What now, Snow?”

He doesn’t say anything, just hands me another guard. I replace it on the razor and look at him.

“Why not start with this one?”

“Hair’s too thick, razor’s too cheap. Gums it up. ‘S easier this way.” He says it slowly, quietly, like he feels the same blanket of _something_ I do. I nod, and Snow turns back around.

I finish this one more quicker and flick the razor off. Then we’re standing here, surrounded by the remains of his bronze curls, looking at each other in the mirror.

“You know,” Snow says, “you look... _nice_ with your hair up like that.”

I blink. Did he just...yes, he did. The words are still ringing in my ears. I’m half-dazed and it comes out far softer than I mean it to when I tell him “can’t say the same for you, I’m afraid.”

His eyes, so _blue_ , crinkle at the corners and his mouth turns up. “That’s true,” he says, still looking at me through the mirror.

He turns then, facing me. Bits of hair drift off his shoulders. “So,” he says. “I was thinking.”

“Thought I smelled burning,” I say on reflex. It’s weak, though, and he only snorts and rolls his eyes before going on.

“I was thinking,” he continues. “Next year is our last year.” He pauses and I nod.

“And?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything. He half frowns and steps just a little bit closer.

  
  


SIMON

I’m standing almost toe-to-toe with Baz, covered in my own hair while my head almost buzzes with the new weightlessness.

I’ve had a realization. One that I think I’ve been putting off for too long. I’m sure it’s been at the back of my mind for months now, since Agatha and I broke up and she said I look at Baz more than her anyway.

She’s right. I do look at Baz a lot.

I’m staring at him now, and I think I know why.

“I’ve had a realization,” I tell him, leaning closer. I can feel his breath fanning across my face.

“And what is that, Snow?” Baz says, and it comes out weak and half-breathless. I grin.

“I like looking at you,” I say simply. It’s the truth. I add, “And I don’t want to be enemies anymore.”

“What do you propose we be instead?” He asks in that same thready voice. 

I don’t answer, just lean forward.

He meets me halfway and it’s warmth and scones and burning like ice, new and familiar in all the best ways.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
